


baby, pull me closer

by orphan_account, zanily



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Closer AU, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Song Inspired, brief Nick and Harry, it’s mentioned but in the past, song au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 23:05:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8032513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanily/pseuds/zanily
Summary: Closer AU in which Harry is brokenhearted, drunk, and hasn't talked to the boy he loves in four years. Somehow he and Louis end up in the same hotel bar and fall for each other again. It’s not coincidence, it's fate.





	baby, pull me closer

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i know that i've been deleting my new stories, but this one is all done if you were wondering.
> 
> inspired by [this](https://youtu.be/PT2_F-1esPk) song.

Harry pours himself another drink, filling the champagne glass to the rim - and suddenly the glass and its contents are the same as Harry, about to spill over and ready to break if squeezed too hard. 

He downs the golden liquid in one gulp, his stomach filling with the soft bubbles. He's on the brink of not knowing how many glasses he's had or when he even started. The single thought that is continuing to course through his mind is a morbid one, a thought that he can't possibly dwell on because he's not quite sure what tsunami of emotions will wash over him and whether the pressure will destroy him or not. Well, more than Nick has already. 

Harry gasps for air, his fractured heart shattering in his chest and puncturing his lungs. He knows he's being dramatic, he knows - Nick always told him so - but he can't help it. He can't breathe, he can't, and whether it's because of the heartbreak Nick fucking Grimshaw caused or if it's because of the big fat tears that are rolling down his cheeks in quick succession, he doesn't care. The thought of Nick brings to mind the image of the sheer distaste and horror that crossed his features when Harry kissed him, the scowl that curved his lips when Harry's vision finally focused. 

He can't believe he kissed him. He couldn't believe it when Nick stumbled over his rejection of Harry or when he pressed his palms to his tear-filled eyes and mentally hit his head against the wall behind him. God, okay now Harry can't breathe and he reaches for the almost empty bottle of champagne and chugs the rest of the drink. He flops back down onto the hotel bed, tears falling from his eyes and feet kicking angrily in the air. 

He can't imagine how stupid, how utterly pathetic, he looks at the moment and he can hear the laughter that would've bubbled up out of Niall - before he would go to hug Harry, of course, because he was just that great of a mate (ooh, rhymes); but, alas, the band has been apart for a solid four years and Harry wishes, wishes so hard in this moment that they were celebrating the start of their eighth tour. He wishes for a moment that there are paparazzi and fans outside calling for Harry and Liam and Louis and Niall to come and take pictures, that there are songs needing rehearsal and stadiums to get to. He doesn’t want the couple of straggly paps who don't really need his picture but want it because he's new movie is premiering tomorrow. He wants Louis' warm hugs and Niall's loud laugh, wants to hear the distant conversation between Zayn and Liam in the hallway. 

He can't have that, though, because he ruined it - he bloody ruined their second chance with his movie contracts and his busy schedules. And there was no way the three of them were going to continue on without Harry, especially after the Zayn fiasco. All he knows is that he pulled a flask out of his pocket once the meeting with Modest! was over and that he was drunk for the rest of those four years - save for the times he needed to be completely focused on set. 

Flashes of Louis' torn expression as he was deciding whether to go out with Harry one last time before his movie began shooting or start the long trip to Briana, who was in L.A., and see if the frantic text she sent was real. He remembers the shot of pain that stabbed through his heart when Louis ran to his perfectly beat-up car, shouting apologies and promises - ones he wouldn’t come through with - at him. He can almost feel the warm side hug Niall gave him before scuttling off to grab a celebratory pint with Celine and the soft brush of Liam whispering goodbye for the final time.

Heavier sobs rack Harry's body now, because, fuck he misses his best mates. He aches for them, actually. But, he doesn't really want to see them again because he knows - he can feel it deep in his bones - that if he sees those boys, if he hugs them again, he'll break. Because it’s been four years, four years with Harry all by his lonesome as he filmed movie after movie and walked red carpet after red carpet. These four years should’ve been the best, most freeing years of his life. He should’ve reveled in the quiet that One Directionlessness brought. He should've fucking kept in touch with his mates, should’ve invited them to premieres and asked them to walk the carpets with him just like old times. But, they weren’t the best years and he didn’t reach out at all. So, he moved to his newfound solution for everything - the thing that probably destroys his career despite how calming it is. 

He grabs the neck of the champagne bottle and-it's empty. How fitting, he thinks and chucks the glass against the wall. It shatters, much like his heart, and the sticky pieces of glass slide down the wall. Hotel bar, it is then.

He forces himself to get up, forces his feet into his shoes, forces the sobs back down his throat, and forces himself to button the bottom five buttons of his shirt. He pulls himself together because nothing, nothing is more horrible than being that broken down shithead in a hotel bar. Fixing his gaze to his feet, he pulls open the door and stumblies slightly. His head bangs against the wall and oddly enough, the pain feels good. The pain grounds him, it makes him realize there are much worse fates for a twenty six year old male in the prime of his acting career. And to be brutally and completely honest, the sharp pain might just turn Harry on a tad because, shit, the man hasn't properly shagged in about a year. 

So now, his cock teetering on being half hard and his legs giving out every few moments or so, Harry makes his way to the lifts. And he waits. He waits for what could be mere seconds or mere decades, but when the lift arrives Harry collapses into it, bumping his fist on the lobby button. The tall blonde woman in the lift frowns at him and pushes a stray piece of her pin straight locks behind her pierced ear. Harry wants to flip her off, desperately so, but moving seems like such a daunting and quite taxing activity for him to engage in. So, he doesn't and instead opts to glare thoroughly at her as they go down. It's a long way down, and it's a intense staring contest between the two. Around a minute in - the movie people placed him on the top floor, thus giving him the longest bloody lift ride ever - the woman begins to swim in his vision and she coughs, snapping a finger in his face. 

“Get out. It's our floor, mate.” Her voice is raspy and lilting, hot if it was a guy but weirdly still endearing on her. She raises one dark eyebrow at Harry and he realizes that he moved into the lifts entryway and is blocking her from leaving. Huh. He doesn't remember when that happened, but alas he should move - and he does, but it's a touch too slow for the woman's liking because she scowls and bumps her shoulder with Harry's. 

Harry stumbles backward and the toe of his boot collides with the heel of his other one and he flings his arms out, gripping the leaves of a plant. An elderly couple stares openly at him and he smiles, though he knows that it's a little wonky and not believable. His wink is off and both eyes end up shutting, which throws Harry's balance off again - he really isn't the most coordinated drunk. The redhead woman pulls her partner along, the two old women hurrying into the open elevator as they shoot Harry worried glances. He frowns, he is not that drunk. He doesn't deserve their worry or their bloody pity for that matter. 

Feeling mocked and utterly helpless, Harry makes his way over to the hotel bar. He isn't surprised to see that the bar is almost empty, save for a small brunette who's bent over a half-full glass of whiskey, his light blue jean jacket stretched over his muscles and his black skinnies a second skin on his rounded thighs. The man is fit, so bloody fit, and Harry's world is filling with the sight of him. He imagines the man's small fingers ghosting over his skin as his hands pull on his perfectly messed up fringe...and that's when Harry realizes that the image he conjured up is nothing fake, it is not a fantasy - it happened. He can't believe it, he bloody can't, because he never crossed paths with any of the other boys before, but here he is in the same hotel bar with his ex-lover and best mate. 

And Louis looks so pretty, so, so pretty and from the pieces of his face that Harry can see through his fringe, he looks as if he didn't age one bit from the last moment Harry saw him. His stubble is still sculpted to the edge of his jaw, the hair deep and dark just around his top lip and the dimple of his chin. His ears and still small and nestled in his soft hair and the tattoo lining his wrist is still as vibrant and soft looking as ever. He looks pliant, like that glass of whiskey isn't his first drink at all. Harry moves closer, but then stops. He's crying. Louis is bloody crying. His spine is shaking with the sobs that are spilling out of his lips and into his empty glass - and Harry's heart hurts so much seeing this, seeing Louis cry for the third time in the ten years he's know him.

The first time was after the X Factor when Jay called and his sisters were on the phone with him and their shouts of congratulations and love could be heard despite Harry's distance from Louis. And when the call ended Louis just broke down, just crumpled into himself and shook. He shuddered so hard when Harry stepped over to hug him, falling into Harry's arms and when Harry looked to wipe away his tears he was smiling. He whispered 'Happy tears, Hazza. Happy tears,' and Harry smiled back, clutching the smaller boy to his chest. And in that moment, Harry remembers being pushed over the brink of love.

The second time was when Briana called and said she was pregnant. Louis did the same motions that he did when he cried the first time; he broke down, just crumpled into himself and shuddered so hard when Harry stepped over to him. He fell into Harry's arms and when Harry looked to wipe away his tears he wasn't smiling. His sobs were real and heavy, the heaving of his chest making him fragile and Harry could see Louis' heart shattering. Because what the bloody hell was he to do? He hated Briana, hated her with an odd passion only reserved for her. He wanted so badly to spend the break playing footie and traveling with his mum and sisters. But he couldn't. He ruined it all after a couple of drinks and a shitty shag. 

And suddenly all Harry wants is to be sixteen again, wants desperately to be able to pull Louis into his arms and kiss his tears away. But he can't. He can't because Louis cut himself off from Harry's life, he didn't call at all in those four years. And maybe it's because of the champagne coursing through his bloodstream or because of the stupid, stupid thought that maybe he didn't call because Harry didn't call either. But for whatever reason, Harry places his arm lazily over Louis’ shaking back. And he's so warm and he smells like whiskey and something sweet and homey that Harry can't quite place. 

Louis looks up at him, blue eyes watery and stubble filled with tears. Harry's heart shatters at how sad he looks, how horribly pretty he looks. “Harry,” Louis whispers and his voice cracks at the soft word. Harry can feel the warmth creeping up his spine, can feel the lump in his throat forming. Just Louis saying his name makes him an odd mix of sad and aroused and even more drunk than he was when he came down here. “He's gone.” Louis' voice launches Harry back to Earth and he frowns pulling oddly on the sleeve of Louis' shirt. 

“Who? Who's gone, Louis?” He asks, attempting to sit down on the stool next to Louis. He fails, his bum hanging dangerously off the seat and he has to hurriedly grip the edge of the bar as Louis lets out a watery laugh at the sight, fingering Harry's side in an attempt to help him get upright. Harry leans into Louis' side, pushing his head into the crook of his neck. Louis chokes on a sob, curling his arm around Harry's waist and pushing him closer and God, the touch feels so good, so much like home. "What happened, Lou?" He whispers, moving his head so his curls tickle the back of Louis' neck.

"My son. Briana, she won the fucking custody case - judge said that my former pop lifestyle is no good for Freddie. Like, like her way of living - her life is not any better than an ex-popstar's!" Louis hiccups and buries his face into Harry's open top, his tears cold against Harry's steadily warming skin and his lips burning a brand onto him. Oh, how he wishes Louis would just brand him with love bites.

He makes soft circles with his hand on Louis’ back, his fingers trailing the small bumps of his curved over spine. His veins buzz with a mixture of sadness and the unmistakable feeling of being sixteen again. Sadness because, well, Louis is sad which makes Harry so horribly sad and yet he feels sixteen again, comforting the most fit boy he's ever seen as he cries. “It's okay, love. You'll still see him. And if anything I'll...I'll break down her door and steal him!" Louis laugh is watery yet again and Harry relishes in the fact that he's the only one quite capable of making Louis laugh this many times in moments of supreme vulnerability. If Niall were here, if Niall stumbled into the bar and saw Louis crying he would run straight to the hills with his tail between his legs, cursing into the wind and chugging a foaming pint of beer. Harry almost laughs at the image but catches himself when Louis' fingers curl around his shoulders, the smaller boy trying to pull himself up while burying his tear-stained face in Harry's chest.

"The paps, Harold. Christ, the sight of you brings them in a flash," Louis says, pushing his nose between the flesh of Harry's arm and his ribs. Harry laughs and the pair begins to walk backward, faces burrowed into each other's skin and shins hitting the legs of chairs that get in their way. Harry can see the white flashes of cameras from the corner of his eye and he knows that the pictures of them will be plastered all over the tabloids with lewd headlines about the two of them. But Harry doesn't care, he truly doesn't, and just continues to shuffle backward, pulling Louis into a conveniently open lift.

Once in the privacy of the small space, Louis detangles himself from Harry and leaving his chest cold and aching for him. He scrubs a hand under his red nose, the harsh fabric of his jean jacket making his hands paws - he looks so small like this, so, so small and yet so fit at the same time. Harry hopes he's been eating and not smoking or drinking on an empty stomach; but maybe he's just looks small because Harry is so, so tall now and just about everyone looks very, very small to him. Louis folds into himself, pressing his back into the corner of the lift and crossing his feet at the ankles - he still rolls his jeans up a tad too high, which Harry still finds unbelievably adorable. Louis tentatively presses the button for floor ten, only two floors lower than Harry's own room, his gaze searching Harry's in the dim lift. 

Harry slides against the wall and bends to press his nose into the hot skin of Louis' shoulder. His sweater fell when he pushed the jean jacket down to cover his fingers, exposing soft and pale skin. Harry quite likes this spot and wants to press his lips there, to suck and bite on the white skin until it turns red and visible to everyone who sets their eyes on him. Instead, he softly purses his lips against the skin and inhales the salty sweet scent that fills his nostrils. Louis curls a hand around the back of Harry's neck, pulling him closer and nuzzling his nose into Harry's curls. "I missed you Harry, so much, but erm, I like - I like your curls longer," he whispers and presses a soft kiss to Harry's temple, his lips wet with whiskey and probably tears.

"You do? Well, it'll grow back in a few months I think, but if it doesn't it will still be nice and curly because I know that you liked that when we were in the band-" Harry cuts himself off, seeing as Louis’ expression has grown entirely exasperated and his blue eyes are shining with humor up at him. “What?”

“You're so bloody hot, Harold, it's insane - should be illegal,” he whispers and they're moving closer, so much closer, and Louis’ breath washes over Harry’s lips. He doesn't know who makes the first move, who pushes their lips out first, who tangles their fingers into each other's hair first, but then it's happening and he's kissing Louis - he's really kissing him. And it feels like home. He feels nineteen again, surrounded by all his best mates in his flat and being kissed by Louis in the corner. He feels like the small boy who pinched Louis' firm bum one too many times on stage and was rewarded with a firm slap on the bum and a chaste, hot kiss. He can't help the giddiness that fills his bones, can't control the soft longing that leads his hands down the curve of Louis' back and pushes him to squeeze hard on Louis' cheeks. 

Louis lets out a small moan at the sharp contact, his tongue hot and heavy in Harry's mouth as they kiss harder and yet still as soft and innocent as they did years and years ago. Harry can't be blamed when he lets out a breathy squeal in response to Louis taking charge and shoving him roughly against the wall of the lift. He can't be held responsible for the guttural groan that falls from his lips when Louis slots his thigh between Harry's, pressing the muscle against his straining erection. He knows that somehow he should be able to control himself, especially since the boy - well, fuck the man - that's grinding his thigh against his throbbing and painfully hard cock did this before. 

They did this countless times before; they needed to have something to themselves while being horribly closeted in One Direction. They, along with Zayn and Liam, shagged when they couldn't bear it anymore, when their PR relationships got too much for them and they needed to let out some of their pent up angst. Louis was a good shag, a great one, the best shag that Harry's ever had. Louis and his swelling bum, his tiny waist and those great blue eyes that grew glassier with each delicate moan that would fall from his perfect and plump pink lips.

“Harry,” Louis whispers, his words lost in the swollen flesh of Harry's lips. “We're on my, my floor.”

Harry smiles against Louis' lips, pulling him closer by the collar of his shirt for a brisk kiss before letting the stammering man pull them out of the lift, gripping Harry's hand as they stumble to the room at the very end of the hall. Louis pulls a keycard out of his pocket and Harry can't take the anticipation anymore, he could fuck Louis anywhere anytime - but, preferably against this door right now. He pulls Louis into his chest and presses kisses along his exposed shoulders, licking and biting the skin, hoping to leave more than a few marks on him. Louis groans, lifting a hand to pull on Harry's hair and effectively detaching his lips from his skin. No. Harry needs this, he wants this so bad, and he can't be denied of the small act of marking his territory - and yes, Louis is his territory; they discussed it and it's mutual. He shakes his head, shoving his face back into the dip between Louis’ neck and shoulder. A broken moan slips out of Louis and Harry smiles against the bruising skin, biting harder as he lets out a soft whisper of Harry's name and, fuck, the door couldn't open any faster. 

They practically fall into Louis' room and Louis turns to press his lips hard against Harry's. He groans, pushing Louis' jean jacket off his shoulders and kicking off his shoes. Their kisses are harsh and bruising, like either of them haven't touched another human being in years - and to be honest, Louis is the best Harry's ever had (no one else came quite close) so yes; he hasn't touched another decent human being in years. Yet, somehow there's a strong feeling of intimacy pushing through the desperateness of their kisses, something strong that they pushed to the backs of their minds for years - at least Harry did. It was so very hard for him to be around such an amazingly fit man with a great bum and smile every day for five years of his life. He knows he still bloody loves Louis. He knows it now that he's kissing him for the first time since he realized on that dingy couch in some stadium's dressing room that he was head over heels in love with Louis.

Louis pulls his shirt over his head and throws it over his shoulder, pulling Harry to him by the belt loops of his skinny jeans and ripping his shirt open. Harry stops. Louis is so bloody pretty like this, all expectant and pliant with big glassy blue eyes and soft hairs climbing through the tattoos covering his chest. His heart pounds exponentially harder, his hands itching to feel Louis' skin under his, to watch him sweat and squirm with Harry's touch. He shakes the shirt off his shoulders, his hands gravitating quickly to Louis' slim shoulders as Louis presses soft bites to Harry's bare neck. God, he didn't expect any of this to feel so good, so much like home that he can feel the tsunami of feelings wash over him - one entirely different from the one which he was avoiding early in regards to his heartbreak cause by Nick. Oh, Nick. Harry's heart clenches and he frowns, pushing his fingers deep into the meat of Louis' bum and forcing himself to focus solely on Louis.

"Harry? Harold, are you okay?" Louis asks, pulling on Harry's messy quiff and detaching Harry's lips from his own. Harry nods and presses his lips to the corner of Louis' lips, kneading his fingers into the smooth skin on the back of Louis' neck and pulling on the small curls there. Louis shakes his head, pulling at Harry's wrist and slipping his arms around his slim waist. Harry wants to tell him, he so wants to tell Louis all about what happened with him and Nick, but he knows that Louis will just kiss his senseless and hug him until he stops shaking. "Hazza?"

Harry sniffles and nods again, trying to pull Louis back toward him so he can touch him again, so Louis can kiss away his pain. Louis frowns and Harry wants to kiss away those creases. "Okay I am, Lou," he whispers, sliding his hands down Louis' waist and slipping this pinkies underneath the band of his bloody tight jeans. 

Louis shakes his head and wraps his hands around the back of Harry's waist, tugging him closer and tightening his arms around him. Oh my God. Louis is so warm and feels like home and Harry can't take it, he can't bear the overwhelming pain that over takes him - and yes it's pathetic to be so heartbroken over a guy who never showed any interest whatsoever, but Louis just makes him want to tell him everything. "You're not, H. You're really not - talk to me please, baby," he begs and pulls Harry toward the bed, knocking the back of his knees against it and yanks Harry on top of him. Harry falls, his erection rubbing against Louis' and - oh my. He wants him so bad, so bad, but he knows Louis will never let him anywhere near his cock unless Harry feels so content with himself - which, in the moment, he doesn't.

“Baby?” Harry asks, holding back a laugh.

“Shut up, Herold! Talk - speak your truths,” Louis slurs, a sputtering laugh escaping from his lips as he tries to pull himself together desperately. 

Harry laughs, laying his head on Louis' stomach. “I kissed Nick and he said no, no, no t-to me and I ran away here. I thought I liked him very much a lot, but I, no, I like you more, Louis. I've always loved you best,” he whispers and traces Louis' tattoos with the pad of his finger, matching Louis' breathing with his own as Louis' grip tightens around his shoulders.

"You don't love me, Harry," Louis says and pushes his finger against Harry's pursed lips, pulling down on Harry's swollen bottom lip and pressing a chaste kiss to Harry's sweating forehead. "I was just the first boy that you ever had 'the hots' for - I was just so fit back then," he whispers, pulling on one of Harry's short curls. 

Harry giggles. "We both were; 's why I fell in love with you and you did the same with me, Lou. I know you did," Harry says, licking a stripe up Louis' pecs and biting softly on the older man' exposed nipple as Louis' hips buck up to crash into Harry's pelvis. He groans into Harry's skin, his lips mouthing against his bare chest. Harry bites back a gentle moan, choosing instead to squeeze the back of Louis' neck, pulling the blue-eyed man's lips toward his own. He pulls Louis' top lip into his mouth, growling as Louis slips a hand into the back of Harry's jeans, his fingers teasing the top of Harry's bum. "You love me, Louis, just say it," he whispers, dragging his lips along his jaw and pressing wet kisses to his temple.

Louis shakes his head, hair flouncing around his face and lips pursing. Harry shrugs, pushing Louis' shoulders in an attempt to get off him but ends up just rolling over, pushing his back into the soft fabric of the duvet. Louis makes a soft noise of disappointment and reaches his hands out to Harry, flexing his fingers and moving to curl into his side. Harry shuffles away and - my God he feels like a bloody five year old, pouting because the love of his life doesn't love him back. Well no, the subject that Louis is refusing to acknowledge is not something frivolous, it's real and it hurts that he can't say it even four years later. 

Harry's thigh is teetering on the edge of the bed, one of his bum cheeks hanging off - if Louis tries to get any closer, he'll most definitely fall. Louis does try again, lifting his hip and striving to place his body on top of Harry's, but Harry doesn't let him and lets himself fall over the edge. Louis lands on top of him, though, and there are a few moments of heavy silence before Louis breaks into a fit of drunk laughter, laying his head on Harry's chest, his small body shaking with chuckles. Harry frowns and attempts to slip out from under him, pushing Louis' head off his chest and sitting up against the bed. "No Louis, no," he whispers, suddenly sobered and now hurt. Because, fuck, Harry loved Louis - loves Louis - and all Louis does is refuse to say what Harry knows he feels, try to get close to him, and then just laugh. He can't do that, he can't, because even though Harry doesn't have much experience with boyfriends (he preferred to stick to one night stands with hot actors during filming), but he does have plenty of experience with boys who treat him like scum. And he shouldn't have to take this shit from Louis, he doesn't have to. "You can't, you bloody can't treat me like this. I hate you, I do, and you can't just-"

"I love you," Louis says, just like that, and Harry's frown deepens because no that's not how it's supposed to happen - Louis can't just say exactly the shit Harry that wants to hear to pacify him. Louis climbs into his lap and curls his knees around Harry's waist, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his nose into Harry's neck. "I love you and I'm sorry that it took me nine years to say it because I think I've loved you since you weed on my trousers that first day," Louis whispers, biting and licking a spot on Harry's neck.

Harry shakes his head, the creases between his eyebrows never lifting. "No, Louis. You don't and that's okay, I can take rejection I'm a-"

"Big boy, I know," he says, palming Harry's overwhelmingly painful erection through his jeans and biting down hard on Harry's shoulder. And God, the way Harry was going to say it - before Louis rudely made him way too aroused to speak - makes Louis' sultry version seem much dirtier. "You've got a big heart, too, Harold. And I love you - every little piece of you," he whispers, pressing kisses along Harry's skin with each word, marking up Harry's skin with love bites and making his thighs twitch under him. Louis straightens and stares at Harry, blue eyes clouding with something sweet and warm, yet tentative all the same. Harry lets his frown fall from his face, lets the angry creases between his eyebrows fall, and he smiles fondly at Louis, his heart swelling. 

"Louis, you know that we can't do this," he whispers, running his hands up and over Louis' shoulders. "It wouldn't be a good for your image-"

Louis waves a hand to cut Harry off and press a hard kiss to the corner of his mouth, silencing the taller boy for a quick moment. "Image, shmimage. I do not care. I love you. And I would rather have nothing than not have you," he annunciates each word with force, his accent thicker than normal and laced with hints of his drunkenness.

"No, Louis. You're drunk, like super drunk Louis." Louis shakes his head and his face takes on that adorable stubborn and determined - the same expression he had on the first day Harry met him and he wiped Harry's piss off his trousers. He smooths down the soft, short hairs on Harry's temples and sits back on his knees, his bum resting in the small space between his shins.

Louis shifts on his legs and his knee bumps into the bulge in Harry's jeans. Tease. "I'm in drunk with you, I'm not love," he slurs and presses a finger to the center of Harry's chest, right between his two swallows. Harry frowns. Louis' drunk and he should let him sleep it off and visit in the morning. But he can't bring himself to get up from the floor, can't bring himself to let Louis close those beautiful blue eyes without fucking him into the mattress first. "I'm joking, Harold. Jesus can you take a bloody joke?" Louis jokes and stands up, reaching for Harry's hand and pulling Harry onto his feet; the taller man stumbles, launching the two of them back onto the bed with Harry balancing himself over Louis' body. Louis' hands move to grip Harry's bum and Harry jumps, shimmying Louis' hands off.

"I - God, fuck me, please" Harry groans and shoves his lips onto Louis' who responds instantly, craning his neck to get a better angle on Harry's mouth. The tension in the hotel room simultaneously lifts and multiplies tenfold when Louis' tongue swipes across Harry's lip and he shoves his tongue into his mouth. Their tongues slide together, wet and heavy in each other's mouths as the taste of their respective choices of alcohol fill each other's mouths. Harry groans as Louis' hips buck into his and Jesus, he wants him so bad.

+

And he's exactly what Harry gets. He gets to kiss every inch of Louis' skin, gets to find each spot on Louis' body that makes him scream Harry's name out loud, gets to kiss him as he rides out his orgasm. Now, laying next to a snoring Louis, he almost gets a semi. His skin lights up in each spot that Louis marked, each sweat and cum covered part of his body.

He pulls Louis' sleeping body closer, snuggling into his side and pushing his legs between his. Louis groans softly in his sleep and presses his nose into the wet skin of Harry's chest, his hands gripping at Harry's shoulders and pushing his thigh against Harry's cock. His eyes slip closed and Louis sleepily presses a kiss to Harry's butterfly. "Good morning, babe," he whispers, running the fingers of his other hand along the ferns on Harry's hip bones. 

Harry laughs. Louis is so pliant and adorable and just, well, Louis when he's sleepy. "It's not morning yet, Lou," he says and kisses his head, placing his lips into the wet fringe splayed across the pillow.

Louis makes a soft noise of acknowledgement, burying himself deeper into Harry’s chest and tightening his weak grip around his waist. “You fucked me so good, I lost track of time,” he whispers, pressing a languid kiss on the love bite covering Harry’s fourth nipple. Harry giggles into Louis’ fringe and sneaks a glance over his shoulder, trying to see through the crack in his curtains. There’s a harsh glow of sunlight filtering into the room, the telltale signs that Louis was most definitely right about losing track of time and that they need to get up if Harry is going to make his hot yoga class with . . . Nick. Oh, yoga can wait. Or better yet, Harry should just skip out on the hot yoga class with the human form of his own personal devil and go to one later in the day - preferably after a brunch as soft and unhurried as the topnotch cuddles he’s getting from Louis. He makes a mental note to call the studio and see if they can fit him into the class while Louis is in the shower - before Harry joins him, of course.

The sound of Louis’ alarm breaks the silence and Harry can feel him frown against his chest, his soft kisses broken by the sudden downward curve his lips take. “I thought you said it wasn't morning, love,” he groans, moving out of Harry's arms and gently hitting his bicep. Harry groans, the lack of warmth and contact making him whine for Louis - ache for him even. Louis huffs, sitting with his legs dangling off the end of the bed and grabbing his phone to turn it off. “Fuqck,” he whispers and the soft sound would've been too quiet for Harry's ears if he hadn't unconsciously shuffled closer to Louis' back and wrapped his arms around his waist. 

“What's up?” He asks into Louis' neck, the touch intoxicatingly sweet. 

“I have brunch with all the lads in an hour.” Oh. Harry hasn't seen the other three - or two, he's not sure which ‘lads’ Louis means - of his mates in four years. But, oh, maybe his luck will change. Maybe the lads won't hate and resent him for not calling in four years - although they didn't reach out either - and they'll embrace him and they will all have as sweet of a reunion as his and Louis'. Well, emotionally sweet. Like involving heart lurches and large smiles, not cocks and arseholes.

“Oh, well, you should like head there - right? I mean I know Liam hated it when we were late somewhere…” Louis shakes his head and stands, his naked bum swaying as he moves into the en suite bathroom of his hotel room.

“I just need to take a quick shower and then we can talk while I get dressed,” he calls, the bathroom door drifting closed. Harry can still see in the small room, though, and he turns to watch Louis bend over and grab a white towel.

He hums, pushing his fingers through his short hair. “We need to take a quick shower,” he says, flopping back onto the sheets teeming with sweat and cum. He should be grossed out, should be recoiling from the mess and downing kale smoothies to cleanse his body but for some reason he can't bring himself to care - Louis must have a larger affect on him than he thought.

He can hear Louis’ scoff from the bathroom. “No, you'll just distract me.” Harry groans, running his fingers through the sticky substance coating his pecs. “I won't be long, promise.”

“Oh, babe, you're plenty long - don't deceive yourself.”

Louis snorts as the loud pounding of the shower fills the room and Harry exhales, pushing the image of Louis wet from the water raining down on him and soft from his morning haze out of his mind. He's not successful, but he ends up getting a blow from sneaking into the shower with Lou - despite his short lived protests. 

+

They are officially late for brunch. 

And Harry deems that as Louis' fault because, fuck, he's wearing those tight black skinnies that make his are look so bloody amazing and that white shirt that clung so deliciously to his abs. So those chaste little slaps on the bum Louis received as they walked to the café were very warranted and the kisses Louis gave in return made Louis' playful scowls worth it. The one problem with the situation is that his nerves are running rampant, the mere thought of seeing Niall's startled blue eyes when he walks into brunch with Louis' hand in his. 

Louis notices Harry's worried frown and stops walking to pull on Harry's hand, his eyebrows crumpling into a crease. "Babe?"

Harry's heart swoops at the nickname, tightening his grip on Louis' hand and lifting their joined fingers to kiss the twenty-eight on Louis' knuckles. "Yes, love?"

"What's wrong, Harold?" He asks, dropping their joined hands and wrapping his free one around Harry's waist to pull him closer. Harry shakes his head and kisses the deepening crease between Louis' eyebrows, stepping out of Louis' hold and attempting to pull him toward the café a tad quicker. "Harry," he protests, dragging his feet adorably on the concrete.

"Nothing, Lou; seriously. Just a little nervous, is all." Louis coos, pulling Harry into his chest and running his hands along the soft fabric of Harry's black button down shirt that's covering his abs.

“You'll be fine; they love you. God only knows how many times they've asked about you - they miss you so much, Harold. Especially Zaynie Boy,” he says into Harry's back, blocking his face from the smattering of paparazzi gathered outside the café. “We'll just walk in together - like holding hands and all - and they'll be so ecstatic. Promise. Nialler’s head almost burst when I accidentally sent him a picture of you sleeping at like 2 AM this morning.” Harry nods and Louis smiles into his shirt, inhaling the soft scent a tad. Harry giggles at the soft scrunch of Louis' nose into his back and pulls the smaller man out from behind him, pushing him into the throng of photographers shouting their names. 

Harry steps quicken and he grips Harry's hand, making another tsunami of camera flashes start as the paps call out questions and vulgar names. With each harsh word, Harry's eyebrows push together because, well, he hasn't had such rude paps taking pictures in years. Not since the fake news of ‘Hendall’ broke and people were mad that he was going after someone younger than he was at the time. And that hadn't been real, so the insults didn't hurt as much - they weren't actually attacking something dear to Harry.

Louis stops walking. Harry stumbles, confused, and straightens to frown at Louis. Louis' eyes are soft and full of fond, his blue orbs staring deep and wide at Harry - it's a bit unnerving, really, because Louis only looked at him like this when he thought something Harry was doing was insanely adorable. Or when he wanted to kiss Harry's pain away - oh.

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's neck and Harry falls into Louis' chest, his lips crashing into Louis' as Louis pulls him closer and tightens his grip on Harry's waist. Their lips slot together in a sloppy kiss, Louis' tongue pushing between Harry's lips and sliding his hands into Harry's back pockets. Harry groans into Louis' mouth and slips his hands up under the bottom of Louis' top. Louis giggles into Harry's lips and the flash of cameras blinds him when Louis pushes away from him, pulling his hands out of Harry's pockets. "Okay?"

Oh God, he can't even speak right now because Louis is being Louis and he can't quite form a coherent thought - or sentence - although, the answer is on the tip of his tongue. All he can do is nod and squeeze the muscles of Louis' back underneath his shirt. Louis grins pushes softly past Harry to saunter into the café, bum swinging tantalizingly in his tight jeans as Harry stumbles after him and slides his hands onto Louis' little tummy. He pushes his face into the crook of Louis' neck, making him convert into the blue-eyed kitten that he is, laugh and lift his hands to wrap them around Harry's neck. Harry chuckles and presses kiss after kiss to the skin covered by his old t-shirt. 

"Nialler!" Louis laughs and lets go of Harry's neck and he looks up. Fuck; the lads. He lifts his head from Louis' neck just as the shorter man moves to shuffle toward the table of their best mates, his smile and arms wide as he embraced stunned ex One Direction member after stunned member. Niall buries his face in the spot where Harry's lips were and whispers something that makes Louis shake with the undeniable shutter of laughter. Zayn and Liam rise together with hands in each other's they stare at Louis and Harry, their gaze darting between the two glassy eyed men. Louis hugs the other couple and they continue to stare at Harry over Louis' shoulder, Zayn's eyes filling with tears - even though he would never admit that it happened.

"Hazza!" Niall calls, opening up his arms as Louis pulls Zayn into a tight embrace. Harry pauses, not sure what Niall intends for him to do, can't tell if he's opening his arms as if to say 'what the fuck Harold' or 'hug me baby' because, well, both would be appropriate reactions for the Irishman to have. But then, Niall runs through the tight aisle between the small café tables and crushing Harry's ribs in a suffocating hug. Harry laughs into Niall's warm skin, fighting back the relieved tears that fill his eyes when Niall grips at the back of Harry's shirt. 

"Hi Ni," he whispers, clutching at the blonde's back and trying desperately not to lift him off his tiny little feet. Oh, how he missed him. And Niall smells exactly how Harry remembers - like beer and something warm that's almost reminiscent of sweet snickerdoodle cookies. Niall's laugh is as jolly as ever and it's almost as if those four lonely years hadn't happened and they're all just lounging around the tour bus and Louis said something stupid that made Niall laugh. Then, Zayn and Liam come rushing over, their limbs crashing into Harry and Niall's as they run into Niall's back and make Harry stumble backward. Their huddle is warm and feels like home. Harry can stay like this forever, all cuddled up with his favorite people in the entire world and feeling so loved and so in love. 

Speaking of being in love, he shuffles around in the huddle and makes it so he can see Louis standing in front of their table. Louis' eyes are full of fond and his small little hands are clasped in front of his stomach, his cheeks hollow with the effort of trying not to grin too wildly. He smiles at Louis and Louis smiles that brilliant smile right back and for the most brief moment, Harry wonders why he ever fell for Nick in the first place - Nick and Louis were exact opposites, the exact opposite of what Harry wanted (which was Louis, if you couldn't tell already). He shoves a hand through the mass of bodies and gestures for Louis to join their hug, pursing his lips out. Somehow, Louis' grin widens and somehow Harry's heart swells with more happiness when Louis presses a soft kiss to Harry's lips and slips his hands around Harry's neck. 

Niall steps out of the tight hug, frowning, and Liam and Zayn follow with bright smiles littering their faces. "Let's keep the kissing stuff for home, 'kay? It hurts me eyes." Zayn chuckles, plopping down into a small wooden chair as Liam rubs their noses together in an adorable eskimo kiss - much to the distaste of Niall. "I don't need to see my best mates snogging! It's downright horrible."

Harry laughs and detaches himself from Louis to sit next to him, his hand finding the other brunette's thigh as Liam and Zayn fall into chairs across from them and Niall slings an arm around Harry's shoulders. Tension releases in his shoulders - they still love him, no matter how communication-less the past four years were. Liam still smiles at Harry the same - all wide with pearly white teeth and large crinkles around his huge brown eyes - and Zayn's eyes are still as warm and kind as ever. Louis' hands grip at the inside of Harry's thigh, his fingers rubbing the large love bite hidden underneath his pants. "That's a pretty nasty love bite you have there, Lou," Zayn says, fighting to keep the smirk off his perfect face and letting his gaze land on the large bruise covering the side vein in Louis' neck.

Louis giggles and blushes hard, tightening his grip on Harry's thigh and leaning his head on Harry's shoulder. "It's Harry's masterpiece, 'm not sure I can take any credit. You should see my back, though; Harold here went insane. I mean, I thought I went crazy, but he is a real animal," Louis says, laughing and rubbing a hand on the sore marks on Harry's red back. Oh, God. Louis really is in a rare mood today. Harry can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks as Niall chuckles loudly and Zayn raises a sculpted eyebrow at Louis, who moves his head to press a hard kiss to the underside of Harry's jaw.

"Nice. You two are back together, then?" Liam asks and waves the hand that's not gripping Zayn's on top of the table between the two of them. Back together? Were they ever really together in the first place? Are they now? Oh, fuck no, he's getting more and more flustered and frustrated than he was when he kissed Nick - and oh Nick, he hasn't thought about him all day and it's all because of Louis.

"I love you."

Liam smiles knowingly and Zayn leans back in his chair, a smirk tilting his lips. "I love you too, Harold, but I'm taken."

Harry shakes his head, turning to Louis with a large smile on his face. He loves him. He always has and the sober realization of this knocks the wind out of him. "No, no - I love you, Louis. Like I lot. And I know that this is super out of the blue and we just like - um, we just reconnected - and I can't tell if you like me, but I love you and that hasn't changed since 2011—" Louis presses a hard kiss to Harry's lips, cutting him off and shoving his hands into his curls. Harry can't breathe, he can't, and this time it's the greatest feeling in the entire world because Louis is breathing for him. He knows that the entire café is staring at them and that Zayn and Liam are fonding over them with proud smiles on their faces, although Niall is probably gagging over the back of the chair. 

"I love you, too, Hazza. Always have," he whispers against Harry's lips and he smiles against Louis' lips - he can't believe that this is happening, he can't understand why it's taken them nine years to admit it to each other. His heart is so full when they pull away and it grows even fuller when he sees Niall's wide smile and the flurry of camera flashes outside the café windows. Louis blushes at the stares that they're getting and entangles his fingers with Harry's as a soft reminder that's he's there and everything's okay, even though Harry knows there will be some backlash. 

"Well, I guess we are together then," he whispers, locking his gaze with Harry's and wrinkling up his cute little button nose. "I'll be Louis Styles soon enough."

"Harry Tomlinson."

"Louis Styles," Louis protests, his nose scrunching more as bright blue eyes crinkle with a loving glare. No, no, no. Harry doesn't know why he's so fucking adamant about possibly taking Louis' name - maybe it's because of the insane amount of adrenaline that shot through him when Louis even mentioned them ever being in a position to take each other's names - but over his dead body will Louis ruin his beautiful name. Harry Tomlinson just makes Harry's heart swell with love every time he hears it; not that Louis Styles doesn't, but he likes Louis' name, he wants it, really. 

They continue to stare at each other, false tension radiating off them. Niall coughs and they break their gaze, Harry blushing furiously as Louis tugs on an extra long curl by the side of his ear. 

"So, Harry Tomlinson, how's your life been for the last four years?" Niall asks, leaning his elbows on the table like an insane manners-less human as Louis scowls intensely at the use of Harry Tomlinson. 

Harry almost laughs at the sight and only barely pulls himself together when he sees Niall's eyebrows begin to pinch together. He spills information about his lonely life to the table, hands waving animatedly in the air as he gestures rapidly about his latest movie - She's The Man 2, which is coming out on January 5th, 2021 (seamless, I know) - and how his love life took a turn for the worse. Louis' grip on Harry tightens to the point where he knows he'll have more bruises in the coming hours when he goes into detail about how he was projecting his rejected love for Louis onto Nick and ended up kissing him and falling, then, into Louis' waiting arms. He indulges them with all the minute details he can remember about Gemma and Michal's family only wedding in Dubai's Palm Island and how Anne might be expecting another child with Robin via surrogate. He talks on and on about how Kendall Jenner kept assuming that because he came out as bisexual, they could still be together despite his blatant dislike of her. And at the end of it all, the lads are smiling and Harry can't help but smile back and revel in the feeling of home, he's home, and nobody can take that from him. 

They leave brunch with stomachs full and hearts contents, heavy promises of getting a drink sometime and getting all the families together again filling Harry's head as he tries to remember the dates everyone said they could meet. The pressure deflates him and he has to hold a hand up to cover his eyes from the intense flash of the cameras, something he's not accustomed to doing. He ends up stepping on more than a couple of toes and would've walked right into traffic if Louis didn't pull him back and kiss a spot of skin above his collar that made him freeze automatically. Louis leads them to a new hotel room - one under both of their names - and they collapse on the bed, phones off and just listening to each other breathe.

"I love you," Louis whispers, hand groping the soft sheets to find Harry's.

"I love you too," he says back, gripping Louis' hand and pinning him down to the bed.

And in that moment, everything resolves itself. The pieces slot into the spots they're supposed to be in and Harry can finally see his future as it should be - with Louis by his side the entire time.


End file.
